Page 11 of Finding Home

Chapter 7

Cole’s boots crunched over the frozen ground as he stepped out of his truck at the Finley Point site. His breath formed white clouds in the pre-dawn darkness, reminding him just how cold it was before the sun rose.

He liked to arrive before the crew on inspection days, when the only sounds were the lake lapping against the shore and the occasional cry of a bird. This land would become something beautiful. He could see it even now, in the quiet cold before sunrise.

He approached the cluster of construction equipment parked near the foundation stakes, the keys to each vehicle already in his hand. Unlike a lot of developers, there weren’t many jobs Cole hadn’t done in the construction industry. And at times, that experience had come in handy when things started turning to custard.

The excavator was first in line. When he’d come here a few days ago, he’d noticed that it was running rough. He climbed into the cab and turned the key.

The engine turned over once, twice, then seized with a grinding shriek that made him wince. He killed the ignition and sat very still, his pulse quickening. That wasn’t a normal sound. That was the sound of an engine destroying itself.

Cole jumped down and moved to the bulldozer. Same result—a horrible grinding protest before he shut it down. Then the backhoe. Each piece of equipment responded the same way, and with each failed start, the knot in his stomach tightened.

Grabbing his flashlight from the truck, he began a more thorough inspection of each vehicle. The fuel caps on all three machines showed fresh scratches around the edges, subtle but visible in the beam of his light. He unscrewed one and shone the light inside. The fuel smelled wrong. It was too sweet and had a pungent chemical undertone.

Sugar. Someone had poured sugar into the gas tanks.

Cole’s hands shook as he moved to check the hydraulic systems on the excavator. He didn’t have to look too hard to see that something was wrong. Dark fluid pooled beneath the machine, and when he traced the lines with his flashlight, there were clean cuts in three separate hoses. Not wear and tear, not an accident, but deliberate.

Something cold and hard settled in his chest as he stood in the dim light. In the last thirty years, he’d dealt with permit delays, contractor disputes, material shortages, and weather setbacks. He’d never dealt with sabotage.

Who would do this? And more importantly, why?

The Finley Point project was supposed to be different. He’d been so careful with the community meetings, the environmental assessments, and the local hiring commitments. He’d thought people were coming around to the idea.

Apparently, someone wasn’t.

Cole pulled out his phone and dialed the sheriff’s office. It rang four times before a sleepy-sounding deputy answered.

“This is Cole Morrison at the Finley Point development site,” he said, working to keep his voice steady. “Someone’s deliberately damaged the construction equipment.”

Chapter 8

Two hours later, Cole sat in his truck with Noah, watching Sheriff Marcy Thompson and her deputy finish their investigation. The sun had risen, casting long shadows across the site, but Cole felt no warmth from it. As well as cutting the hydraulic lines and adding sugar to the fuel tanks, someone had broken into the storage shed and damaged the air compressor and power tools.

Sheriff Thompson approached his window with a notepad in her hand. “I’ll file a report as soon as I get back to my office, and we’ll patrol the area more frequently. But I need to be honest with you, Mr. Morrison. We don’t have the resources for round-the-clock surveillance.”

“What about fingerprints?” Cole asked. “Or security camera footage from nearby properties?”

Sheriff Thompson shook her head. “Apart from the BioTech facilities farther around the point, it’s too remote out here for other cameras. I’ll call into BioTech before I head back to town and see if they have any video of vehicles using the road. As for prints—” She gestured at the equipment. “Too many people have legitimate reasons to be near these machines during work hours. We’ll do what we can, but without witnesses or evidence pointing to a specific individual...”

She left the sentence hanging. “I understand,” Cole said. “Thank you for coming out.”

After the sheriff left, Noah turned to him, his usual easy manner replaced by something more serious. “We need to hire private security. Having someone on-site overnight, at least until we figure out what’s going on, might deter them from coming back.”

Cole rubbed his face, suddenly exhausted despite the early hour. “Do you know what that costs? We’re already dealing with delays from the permit extensions.”

“Insurance will cover the equipment repairs,” Noah pointed out.

“But not the lost time. As soon as the inspections and permits are approved, we’ve got subcontractors lined up and suppliers on schedule. Every week we’re delayed costs money, even if the insurance covers the damage.” Cole stared out at the site, at the foundation markers that now seemed fragile and temporary. “And what message does it give to the residents of Sapphire Bay? Needing armed guards to protect the resort doesn’t give anyone confidence that we’re doing the right thing.”

“Do you think it’s someone local?” Noah asked.

Cole exhaled slowly. “I don’t know. It could be someone who thinks we’ll ruin the lake. Or someone who wanted this land. Maybe—” He stopped, frustration bleeding into his voice. “I don’t know. That’s the problem. I’ve been trying to do everything right, and I still don’t understand who’s upset or why.”

“What if we could figure out what’s really driving what happened here?” Noah asked carefully.

Cole glanced at him. “How? The sheriff’s department are too busy.”